Ash Wednesday.

"Ashes to ash, dust to dust."

* * *

The cross and all other representations of Christ covered in purple cloth - the color of mourning, the color of royalty.

Incense - God's presence.

The sign of the cross on my forehead in ash.
"Remember you are but dust, and to dust you will return."

The communal confession of sins.
Prayer.

Incense again - God's blessing.

Bowing - a sign of respect and humility. The removing of hats every time Christ's name was mentioned, another sign of respect and a rich tie to the heritage of the Anglican church. And it wasn't just dead tradition - it was ritual alive in richness.

The sacrament of communion. The priest held up the bread and broke it. The cracking sound resounded - a reminder of what breaking the body meant. I told myself to remember what was said to me as I received the blessing, but it slipped a few minutes later. We drank wine. It had the strength and the bite that wine carries, but it was oh-so sweet. It was strong, it was bold, it was not "safe." A picture of the cross through taste.

I've forgotten what the hymns said already, but I know that the next-to-last one talked about how we are all in the process of death - that we are only here for such a short time. And then, in the last verse we sang about being newborn in Christ.

I've had such a mix of death and life today.

Saying goodbye to the body of Bill this morning, saying goodbye to the person of Bill two days ago. And at the hospital, they play a lullaby over the intercom every time a baby is born. Monday, Kathryn (now 3 years old) played hide-and-go-seek with me in the entrance while baby Claire (now 6 months) slept. Today, only Claire was there - a beacon of joy, peace, and life in a room of death and mourning. She was such a comfort.
But he is no longer in pain. He is truly free with God now.

At church tonight, all walks of life gathered, and families with infants received the sign of the ashen cross on their forehead reminding them of their own mortality and of the mortality of their children.

We are all in the process of dying, and in Christ we are given new life. Continually dying - physically, and to our sinful ways; and continually being renewed - in a way, continually being reborn into the life that God had originally intended for us - this restoration. And in the mix of death and life, all intertwined, I find such peace. It's the peace only Christ could bring.

I've been afflicted by a strange divide in my life for the past week or so. I've either felt numb - completely fine, or the pain has surprised me and taken over. There has been no in-between - no integration. No "dealing." Today, the dam broke and I now carry with me the weight of grief for those who just lost a father, a husband. I carry the grief of death in a natural manner - integrated. But I see the life in it too. Beauty and pain. Life is never simple.

Christ is found in the complexity. God's peace is there, waiting for me like a soothing balm to my wounded soul.

Thank you, God.

Today at work...

I accidentally dumped what was left of a green iced tea down my shirt. Let me clarify, not on my shirt, but down my shirt. Like...I somehow managed to miss splashing it all over myself and basically just sent it down my collar (although I got it on my clothes too). It didn't hurt (it was cold) but it was certainly surprising..and wet...oh so very wet. This was no ordinary iced green tea either... it was sweetened. So, as it dried, I remained lightly sticky. I spent the rest of my shift looking forward to taking a wonderful, cleansing shower once I got home.

Hours later...

just as I was about to get off of work, a woman came into the store. "Do any of the employees here drive a _____?" she asked. "I do," I answered her, thinking that although she didn't look like the type I'd figure would want to buy it, she might be in the market for a work vehicle. (It's not such a crazy thought - people have offered to buy it before.) "Oh," she responded, looking concerned, "I hit it."

The lady was actually really nice. And after talking to her for a little bit, I was able to piece together that she's going through a really tough time in her life right now. I felt/feel bad for her - here she is with her life basically in turmoil already, and she has the misfortune to hit my car. I say "misfortune" because it was an accident and I'm in the clear. I'm trying to figure out how to love on her. And yet, when I got home today...I had a very deep-seeded urge to just cry.

I got off of work at 4pm today.
I got home from work at 6pm after figuring out what to do when one's vehicle has been collided into (and all the learning processes associated with that), dealing with the exchange of information, and then (literally) sitting in 5 o'clock traffic.

I'm not going to say that today was the worst work day in the history of my life, but it certainly wasn't my favorite, either.





...however, I can't escape the notion that if this happened (green tea aside) for the purpose of being able to love on another person in a way that Christ would do, then maybe it's totally worth it. What an amazing opportunity...

(I don't remember where this was going, but I found it in my "drafts" so I thought I'd publish it. Reason: What I have written has merit.)

I could probably sleep right now, but I just don't feel like it.

What's that about?

I feel like it's a sort of metaphor for my life. I have this amazing ability to push myself past my energy limit. I can (theoretically) be exhausted and ready for bed at 9pm, and yet stay up 'til 2am.

I adore this.

Click here:
This film is great.

Scroll down to the Screening Room Archives, and click on "Tanghi Argentini."
You won't be disappointed.

I want to learn to tango...

Good to know!

What type of Fae are you?

Vow.

This I have decided: Let heartache crash down over my head again and again, like the waves of the ocean – I will remain vulnerable.

Little Thought

So, I did some processing on my birthday, and I came to this conclusion:
On one's birthday, one just wants to know that they are loved - that on this day especially, those around you communicate to you how glad they are that you were born and that you are a part of their life.

That's what it comes down to - feeling special. The parties and the balloons and the bounce houses (or whatever) aren't REALLY the object of desire.

We all just want love.